All That's Left You
by subtextgirl
Summary: When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again? Olivia/Alex
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** All That's Left You  
**Author:** Ally  
**Pairing:** Olivia/Alex  
**Summary:** When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue.  
**Spoilers:** If you're aware of events up until the advent of "Conviction", you'll be fine.  
**A/N:** I once swore I'd never attempt another WIP/case-file, but hey. And yes, this is another "Alex returns" fic, but with a little plot thrown in for good measure. Apologies in advance for any factual inaccuracies in terms of geography and other technicalities; I research what I can, but am largely reliant on t'internet, which I acknowledge is not always one hundred percent accurate. On most of the 'legal' aspects I'm claiming "artistic license", but if there's anything really glaring, feel free to point and mock. A slightly different style from my first attempt back in the writing game, but once again, all feedback is welcomed and gratefully received. Thanks for reading.  
**Status:** On-going

**All That's Left You**

"_Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph  
__Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you."_

**Chapter 1**

**Monday 3****rd**** July 2006, Battery Park, Manhattan**

"Your victim is white female, early forties. Definite signs of sexual assault, but I won't know C.O.D. 'til I open her up."

At this statement, Dr. Melinda Warner looked up at the SVU detective at whom her clinical assessment was aimed. As she met the other woman's eyes, she sighed sadly, conveying the contained emotion behind her otherwise stoical words.

Meeting her gaze, the detective in question shifted her weight to her other foot and subconsciously rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, the only outward sign that she was at all affected by the grisly scene before her.

Pulling her light-weight T-shirt away from her body, Detective Olivia Benson silently cursed the ungodly soaring summer temperatures that had cursed the city for the last month. She did this not only for the sake of the loved ones who, after a likely seventy-two hours in the heat of a city park filled with scavengers of every description, would be stripped of the opportunity to give any form of visual identification to the city's most recent victim; but also because although only 3am, the sheen of perspiration which already coated her body would be nothing compared to the heat she could expect for the next sixteen hours or so, during which time the chance of her finding ten minutes to grab a shower and a change of clothes down in the crib could be accurately assessed as slim-to-none.

"Liv!"

Grateful for the distraction, she looked up to see her partner signalling to her from his prone position in the dry dirt a few feet from their victim. His shirt sleeves rolled up, and his face already damp, he looked as happy to have been dragged away from his wife and kids, as she herself had been to be interrupted from what she realised was rapidly becoming her new nightly routine.

"What is it, El?"

Skirting briskly past a young uni, she gently positioned herself on the ground next to her partner who was gingerly holding a near decimated square of paper in a gloved hand. Despite the arid climate, it had clearly been exposed to liquid in at some point in its recent history. Taking advantage of the streetlight above them, she leaned in for a closer look.

"Bus ticket?" she peered curiously. "Think it belonged to the vic?"

Elliot Stabler shifted the angle of the remnant for a better view before shrugging wearily.

"I'll get it to the lab. See what they can do."

Seeing that the body was finally ready to be loaded into the waiting ME's van, Dr. Warner hovering alongside, the two detectives pulled themselves sluggishly to their feet.

"Why don't you go home and grab a couple of hours sleep, El?"

Olivia slapped her partner affectionately on the shoulder as she spoke. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you could use a shower before I have to spend the next fourteen hours with you."

Her partner smiled at the jibe before turning toward her, the expression on his face shifting to guarded concern.

"And what are you going to be doing until daylight, Liv?"

Olivia smirked briefly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes.

"Oh, you know, the usual."

With that she turned round, and after issuing stern orders to the uniformed officers around them to finish clearing the scene, disappeared into the darkness of the park and her awaiting Sedan.

xxx

**Monday 3****rd**** July 2006, Manhattan District Attorney's Office.**

"What do you want now, Jim?"

"Now Alexandra, is that anyway to greet your boss?"

Bureau Chief Alexandra Cabot looked up from the pile of papers scattered across her antique oak desk, at the dulcet southern tone of District Attorney Arthur Branch whose bulky form now filled the doorframe of her office.

If she felt any sense of embarrassment at her initial greeting, there was no outward sign of it. Her features schooled automatically into a picture of practised cordiality and she smiled wryly.

"Checking up on me already, Arthur? I thought I was entitled to at least a month to get my feet under the desk before I was afforded that honour. And besides, aren't you meant to be in the Hamptons right about now?"

The DA smiled knowingly, skilfully avoiding the younger lawyer's question, but his eyes held a momentary flicker of concern.

"How _are_ you doing, Alexandra?"

For a brief second, Arthur Branch thought he saw an expression he had, in his recollection, never before witnessed in arguably his sharpest, and most openly ambitious A.D.A. – uncertainty. But as quickly as it had appeared, it seemed to vanish, leaving him to ponder whether it was something his politically exhausted mind had conjured up to make the woman sitting before him somehow less intimidating. There was no doubt in his mind that Alexandra Cabot was different from the majority of the cookie-cutter young attorneys with whom he had crossed paths over the years. Not that she was by any means the only politically ambitious, fresh out of the Ivy League, counsellor he had come face-to-face with in his career. But she was, in his memory, the only one who had made absolutely no pretence of hiding their motivations. It was ironic, he considered, that where as pretty much every other fresh-faced A.D.A. in his long tenure with the District Attorney's office, who had entered into the domain of the sex crimes unit, had gone from naïve defender of justice to burnt out cynic before the detectives at One Police Plaza bothered to learn their names, Alex Cabot had entered that bureau for purely political gain, and somehow discovered her ideals. The whole notion had been faintly amusing to the D.A. – that is until she'd gone and gotten herself killed.

Even now, after three weeks of her being back in her newly promoted role, and after over six months with the knowledge that news of her death almost three years previously had, for want of a better expression, been greatly exaggerated, staring at the re-incarnation of Alex Cabot was still somewhat unnerving.

The first couple of days after her return, both simultaneously to New York City, and her former place of employment, he had genuinely felt as if he were looking at a ghost. But now, after the initial novelty had worn off, that feeling had yet to fade, and he was left with a disconcerting suspicion that he was becoming poetic in his old age. He had no delusions that her drive was still there. She'd already managed to scare the hell out of all the young A.D.A.'s in her charge, not to mention her bureau deputy. But there was still something in her countenance that caused him a measure of concern. He didn't have to be a shrink to surmise that after spending three years, alone, and with as many identities, looking constantly over her shoulder for the first sign of discovery, the woman had earned the right to be a little jumpy. But she was home now. And although no-one, in this life at least, would ever have described Alexandra Cabot as 'warm and fuzzy', there now appeared to be a new level of guardedness, hidden behind the perfectly controlled smile he was currently on the receiving end of. And it was this thought which prompted his closing remark.

"Well, you know where I am if you need anything."

On hearing the door close in her boss' wake, Alex let the smile drop from her face, her expression again blank as she turned her attention back to the papers in front of her. With her free hand she subconsciously pinched the bridge of her nose. It was definitely going to be a long day.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** All That's Left You  
**Author:** Ally  
**Fandom:** Law & Order: SVU  
**Pairing:** Olivia/Alex  
**Summary:** When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue.  
**Spoilers:** If you're aware of events up until the advent of "Conviction", you'll be fine.  
**Status:** On-going

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who read, and especially to those who took the time to comment, on the first chapter of this story. It's nice to know that people might be interested in reading more. I actually have the first 5 chapters fully completed (I started writing this a month ago), but am planning on posting fairly gradually to give myself a chance to stay ahead. However, real-life will begin to take over for the next couple of months, so I will probably post less frequently. But for anyone who's still reading at that point, don't worry. I have a near pathological compulsion to finish what I start, so I will finish this story - I know exactly where it's going, and I want to get there! So, um, thanks, again - and once more, any feedback is welcomed. Thank you for reading.

**All That's Left You**

"_Long ago, it must be; I have a photograph,  
__Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you."_

**Chapter 2**

**Monday 3****rd**** July 2006, 1-6 Precinct, Special Victims Unit**

"We got a match on your victim."

Detective John Munch's dry tone echoed across the squad room as Benson and Stabler pushed through the heavy swing doors of the bull pen. The sun was now well and truly up and, despite Elliot's all-too-brief detour back to Queens in the early hours, he felt as exhausted as, he was increasingly noticing, his partner looked. Not that she hadn't pushed herself to extremes on the job, as long as he'd known her. But there'd been, for someone who prided themselves on knowing her as well as he did, a marked change over the last three years. And if he'd brushed aside his suspicions over the root of that change, the turn of events which had occurred just short of a month ago, was making the continuation of that habit near impossible. Not that they'd ever talked about it. Hell, no. Olivia Benson could be the poster child for keeping her own counsel at the best of times. And whilst those who had observed their partnership over their time in SVU would comment, somewhat speculatively on occasion, on the 'bond' the two detectives shared, there were some topics that he valued his life too much to even attempt to broach with her. Unless of course she gave him a wide enough opening, that is. Yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that they were all inadvertently sitting on some kind of ticking bomb, and the clock had started the moment his morning paper opened to reveal a very familiar face being welcomed back to this great city of theirs. He was also increasingly aware that, when that bomb finally went off, there was slim chance that any of them would escape the fallout.

His reverie was broken by the suddenly alert voice of the woman he'd been studying, being directed at their fellow detective.

"You got an I.D.?"

Her earlier lethargy forgotten, Detective Benson reached her desk, and the older detective hovering beside it, in three easy strides.

"Who is she?"

John Munch's eyebrows twisted into his typically sardonic expression as he eyed his colleague critically.

"I didn't say we got an I.D." Feeling Benson's eyes boring into him, he shrugged unapologetically. "We got a match."

By this time, Elliot's feet had caught up with his brain and he had crossed the room to stand beside his partner.

"What do you mean, Munch?"

There was a brief pause as the seasoned detective geared himself up for what he clearly believed was going to be, for him at least, an amusing anecdote.

"I mean, we got a match."

Picking up the pile of reports sitting haphazardly on Olivia's desk, he thumbed through them idly as he relayed his account of their content.

"Two months ago there was a raid on a jewellery store downtown." Again he paused briefly. Obviously not getting the response he was aiming for, he sighed resignedly before continuing.

"Although, I'm using the term 'raid' liberally, as this was the phrase used by our esteemed brothers…," he glanced back up at Olivia…. "and sisters, over in robbery-homicide, to describe an eighteen year old, still in his Chuck E. Cheese uniform… and name badge, I might add, armed with a kid's water pistol who walks into a low-rent store in broad daylight, and takes off with fifty bucks worth of costume jewellery."

His audience waited expectantly.

"Unfortunately for him, in his haste to leave with his unpaid treasures, he failed to take into account both the flight of stairs back down to the street, and the store's eighty year old proprietor with failing eyesight and a chronic heart condition. In his attempts to avoid the business end of a well-placed baseball bat he high-tails it out of there. The owner comes out swinging, so to speak, and in his enthusiasm loses his footing and flies down the steps hitting his head and having a fatal heart attack in the process. Our criminal mastermind panics long enough for the security camera installed the day before to take a good long look at his pretty face, before taking off. Uniforms pick him up at his apartment the next day, and he spills everything. He's currently sitting in Rikers where an earnest public defender no doubt thinks he can get the guy off, but is really just handing some rookie A.D.A. the perfect slam dunk to kick-start their illustrious trial career."

Finally taking a breath, Munch looked back up at Benson and Stabler, both wearing perfect matching expressions of impatience, barely masking a hint of amusement.

Munch cocked an eyebrow and continued.

"Oh, and the part which is actually relevant," he sighed again. "You two have no sense of whimsy, you know that right? Anyway, the security footage from the store, according to the reports, showed our guy may not have been acting alone in his feat of criminal achievement. It seems there was also a woman in the store at the same time, but the tech guys couldn't get a clear view of her. When they dusted the scene for prints, every set of his was accompanied by an unknown set. Plus there was an anonymous call about the old guy's heart attack placed to 911, and the operator I.D.'d the caller as female. Add in that none of the stolen jewellery was found when they searched the perp's apartment, and it looked like he hadn't been living their alone. There was a certain feminine touch. And the prints at the apartment matched the unknowns at the store."

The detective shrugged a final time.

"Bright, he may not be, but no-one can accuse him of a lack of chivalry. Despite what the cops and his lawyer are telling him, the guy's not rolling. But the D.A.'s office obviously figure they have enough, so cased closed. That is until I ran the prints from your victim this morning and, guess what, perfect match. Congratulations, looks like you two just found their 'Bonnie'."

With that, John Munch swiftly shoved the reports he'd been reading from into his colleague's hands.

"And thus, my work here is done."

Pushing his shirt sleeves back up over his scrawny elbows, he promptly turned to head back out of the precinct, pausing only to throw one last comment casually over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Olivia, you may want to try actually sleeping at some point. You're starting to look like crap, sweetheart."

And with that, he was gone.

Giving his partner a minute to glare in Munch's wake, Elliot silently took the reports from her, skimming through them curiously.

"Well, it's almost a lead," he commented dryly.

Garnering no audible response from his partner, he looked up.

"Liv?"

"What?"

"Lead."

"Huh?"

"Victim?"

"Sorry."

Returning the reports once more to a growing pile of paperwork, Elliot turned to fully face his partner. Finally tearing her gaze away from the door, she met his stare.

"I'm fine, El."

"I didn't say a word."

His tone was light yet could not fully mask the underlying concern that coloured it.

"Liv…."

Seeing the shadow that crossed her face, the cop in Elliot recognised when a change of tact was needed.

"Munch was right, you know. You really do look like crap."

The humour behind his words took away some of their sting, but he knew his point had been made. Taking advantage of Olivia's uncharacteristic silence, he continued carefully.

"I know you've not been sleeping, since…."

A sharp glare cut him off mid-stride, but he still felt a small sense of relief at the familiarity.

"And how would you know that, Elliot?"

"Because I've called your apartment after midnight five times in the last two weeks, and you haven't answered your phone."

"Maybe I was asleep."

"Well, then why did you answer your cell on the first ring?"

"Who says I wasn't asleep some place else?"

"Like in an NYPD issue stake out vehicle?"

At this comeback, Elliot noticed his partner pale considerably. He felt a stab of remorse for pushing Olivia like she was a suspect he was interrogating, but he'd kept his mouth shut on the topic for three whole weeks, and what had begun as mild concern over his partner's happiness, was now blossoming into full-blown worry about her mental and emotional well-being. If not for a particular attachment to certain male parts of his anatomy, he was a step away from suggesting she talk to Huang. But knowing he'd hit his mark, his next question was delivered with a gentleness that seemed to surprise both of them.

"Have you even spoken to her, yet?"

Whether due to the question itself, or the empathy and understanding behind it, Olivia lifted her eyes back to her partner. As she did so, the emotion on her face flashed from something resembling shock, to anguish, before finally settling on a familiar wry resign.

"I'm sure she's been pretty busy lately. What with the new apartment, the new job, coming back from the dead…"

Seeing her mask re-form, Elliot knew that, for now at least, his chance to push further was over. But not fully willing to drop the matter completely, he again sought out his partner's eyes, hoping that this would either convey his sympathy, or at least dissuade her from killing him outright for his next remark, and the noticeable lack of levity in its soft delivery.

"You know, some people would call that stalking, Liv."

Instead of the barrage he was expecting, Olivia simply shrugged ruefully, still meeting his gaze. The small smile on her lips carried what he could only read as regret.

"I just need to know she's safe, El."

With that she turned abruptly, a hand reaching intuitively for the stained mug resting on her desk. Elliot watched silently as she sauntered over to the coffee maker on the other side of the room, casually throwing out a greeting to Detective Tutuola, as he emerged from Cragen's office. Yeah, there was definitely no way they could escape the fallout on this one.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** All That's Left You  
**Author:** Ally  
**Fandom:** Law & Order: SVU  
**Pairing:** Olivia/Alex  
**Summary:** When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue.  
**Spoilers:** If you're aware of events up until the advent of "Conviction", you'll be fine.  
**A/N:** Um, so I know this is a little later than previously stated, but if anyone's still interested, here's the next chapter of "All That's Left You". Real-life has been a tad busy lately, and will likely stay that way until the new year, but I'm hoping to have posted at least another three chapters between now and then. Thanks to everyone who's read and taken the time to comment on the first two chapters. All feedback is welcomed. And finally, a big thank you to the wonderful 'beurre blanc' for taking the time to plough through the lazy first draft of this chapter and making me try harder! I may not be completely satisfied with how this chapter turned out but it's definitely better as a result of her input! Enjoy. ~ Ally  
**Status:** On-going

**All That's Left You**

"_Long ago, it must be; I have a photograph,  
__Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you."_

**Chapter 3**

**Monday 3****rd**** July 2006, Manhattan District Attorney's Office.**

"The detective on the Walker case just told Christina they got a hit on her guy's accomplice."

Not wishing to take the chance, after her earlier encounter, that Arthur Branch was still roaming the corridors of her bureau, Alex lifted her head slowly at the sound of her visitor, forcing her features into a tranquil smile.

"Excellent, Jim. Thank you for keeping me informed. Has she been brought in for questioning yet?"

Jim Steele surveyed his new boss with a wary curiosity. When it had first been announced by the D.A. that the title of successor to the role of Bureau Chief was not going to be bestowed upon himself, he had felt, if he was honest, a rather swift blow to his professional vanity. He was, after all, a damn good trial attorney, and this had always been _his_ bureau. However, he had reasoned with himself, he was still a good deal younger than the average Chief or E.A.D.A., he had no real desire to try and solve the problems of a bunch of whiny still wet-behind-the-ears A.D.A.s, and let's face it, no matter which of his politically inclined colleagues slunk into the position, it would always remain _his_ show.

That was, of course, until the resurrection of Alexandra Cabot.

However, what had possibly surprised him the most was that since Cabot had taken up her new position within his bureau, he was still somehow the person to whom their younger colleagues selected to whine.

Not that any of them had really known what to expect when Bureau Chief Alexandra Cabot had first swept commandingly into their department, somehow over-shadowing the presence of the District Attorney himself, who had accompanied her if only to make formal introductions. Since her expected arrival had first been announced, only days previously, her soon-to-be employees had been speaking about her in tones of hushed reverence. Not that any of them had actually known her, or probably even been practising law, when she had first graced the halls of justice, but that did nothing, it seemed, to impact the scope of her legend.

Yet after three weeks, the initial 'celebrity' had almost faded, and the A.D.A.s had quickly realised that legend though Alexandra Cabot may be, approachable, as a general principle, she was not.

Christ, he had to admit, the woman could scare even him. She was so damned controlled all the time, it was almost inhuman.

And God help the victims unfortunate enough to cross her path; a lesson he'd had the unintentional experience of observing first hand two weeks previously when he'd walked in on Cabot and Peluso preparing the testimony of a teenage boy due to testify against his step father the following day. Steele didn't need to have worked on the case to see the kid was going through hell. And while Peruso was clearly trying, if not succeeding, to coax him, Cabot appeared no more affected by the situation than if she were asking him to recite the phone book. Jim had watched from the doorway for several minutes before finally making a well-timed interruption. At his presence, the Bureau Chief had merely excused herself from the room and swiftly returned to her office where she had then spent the remainder of the day.

In fact, he was pretty sure that day was the first and only occasion since her arrival in the Bureau that Alex Cabot had seen fit, outside of the court room, to interact with either victim or witness.

And really, after three years selling insurance in Iowa, or whatever the hell it was the marshals had her doing, how qualified did someone need to be to hand out 'smoke-and-mirrors' trial strategy to a bunch of over-eager kids. It's not like it was going to be her ass on the line in front of a judge.

Or so he'd thought.

xxx

"You're going to try the case yourself?"

The question had reverberated through the silent office.

Door handle still in his grip, Steele made little effort to quell the incredulity in his voice.

His boss looked up casually from her desk at the untimely intrusion to her sanctuary so late on a Friday evening. As she peered over the top of her glasses, the Deputy Bureau Chief could've sworn he saw the hint of a smile in her eyes as she politely ushered him in.

"Are you telling me you now have time to take the Davies case yourself, Jim? Or do you merely have a problem with the basic concept of my practicing law? Because, from what I've seen, New York statute hasn't changed entirely in my absence."

Despite retaining his offensive stance in the doorway, Jim Steele felt oddly off-guard. A sensation, he realised, he was definitely unused to. Releasing his grasp on the door handle, he forced himself further into the room. Leaning on a conveniently placed chair, he opted for what he hoped was the tone of a colleague offering some sage out-of-hours wisdom from a place of professional concern.

"I just thought you might wish to take some more time before taking a case to trial."

Cabot paused for a second, her expression again unreadable.

"I appreciate your concern, Jim. But it would seem that Judge Bowen has other ideas about any further continuances in this particular case. And unless you can personally re-write the schedule for the entire Bureau before Monday morning, I fail to see a viable alternative."

"I'm sure if she knew the circumstances…."

The Bureau Chief raised her head to look directly at him, adjusting her glasses in the process.

"I somehow doubt that Judge Bowen has escaped knowledge of the _circumstances_, particularly if she's the avid reader of the Ledger that I've been lead to believe."

Steele fought the urge to shift under the calm stare accompanying the cool observation.

"I trust you've had time to read the case notes?"

Indicating several piles of neatly stacked papers before her, Cabot smiled wryly.

"I still have the weekend to familiarise myself with the finer details, but from what I've seen so far, the phrase, 'guilty as hell' springs to mind."

Jim struggled to hide the genuine smirk he could feel rising.

"That explains the expensive defence attorney."

Silence.

Again finding himself caught in her collected gaze, Steele attempted to put his professional mask back in place.

"Well, if I can be of any assistance…"

Cabot again surveyed him, her expression unchanged.

"Thank you. But I'm sure I can manage."

Her eyes falling back down to her desk, Steele waited for a second, before realising he'd just been summarily dismissed.

His earlier incredulity returning, he made a show of moving toward the door.

"In that case, I won't keep you any longer."

Gaining no response from his boss, he hovered once more in front of the exit.

"Good luck on Monday, Alexandra. The District Attorney's a fair man, at least, and I'm sure he wouldn't have asked you to take the case if he weren't confident in the outcome."

As he reached the doorway, Jim turned for a final time, as an obvious question sprung suddenly to his mind.

"Davies' lawyer still isn't willing to cut a deal?"

At this, Cabot again raised her head.

"Oh, he offered. But I turned him down." At her colleague's expression, a brief smile crossed her lips. "If they had anything I should be worried about, they wouldn't have had to ask."

Steele was almost out the door as her last comment echoed out into the empty room.

"And, Jim? Arthur didn't ask me to take this case. I offered."

xxx

A week later, as Steele found himself slipping into Judge Bowen's court room, he realised that this earlier conversation was evidently still on his mind. It was the fifth and final day of the trial, and as he discreetly took a seat at the back of the room, Cabot was apparently in the middle of her cross examination of the defendant, Robert Davies. The content of which, Steele found himself struggling to follow, as every question she asked was met with a swift "Objection" from the defence table, and an equally rapid "Sustained" from Bowen herself.

If this break in rhythm posed any difficulty to the prosecution's case, standing casually in the centre of the room, Alexandra Cabot appeared unaffected. And Steele quickly found himself enthralled with the one woman legal suicide mission he was surely witnessing.

This feeling lasted all of three minutes.

"So, Mr. Davies, are you telling me that, in broad daylight, you mistook the officer of the law who was attempting to Mirandize you, for, in your words, I believe, "one of those teenagers who's always hanging around causing trouble"?

Cabot took a nonchalant step closer to the witness box.

"I, um…"

At the lack of response she glanced briefly behind her at the suddenly less self-satisfied defence table. If Jim hadn't known better, he'd almost say she was goading them.

"Judge?"

"Answer the question, Mr. Davies."

"I…"

"Would you like me to re-phrase the question, Mr. Davies?" This time her glance fell briefly to the twelve men and women to her left. A genial smile on her face, she took another step closer, her tone conversational. "On the afternoon, in question, why were you, as your secretary and all your other colleagues have so kindly explained, such an avid observer of all law enforcement activity taking place on the street outside your office?"

"I…"

"Was it possibly because you were expecting them to show up, because your 'partner' here -", Cabot tilted her head to indicate a suddenly nervous man who had been sitting in the bench directly behind Davies and his legal team for the entirety of the trial, "- had called them earlier that day with certain privileged information about a fraud scheme that could only have come from someone on the inside."

At the lack of response, Cabot's features formed an almost comical expression of curiosity.

"Tell me, Mr. Davies, did it ever occur to you while you were threatening the life of your wife for her betrayal, that she was perhaps not the only person who could have supplied the police with this particular piece of information?"

Ignoring the prosecutor in front of him, Davies' attention was now fixed solely on his business partner, who could slink no lower into his seat. A look of pure rage on his face, he started to his feet as the bailiffs quickly scrambled to theirs.

A surreal casualness in her movements, Cabot took one last look at the jury, and if he wasn't mistaken, Steele thought he'd seen her shrug.

Ignoring the commotion around her, she smiled offhandedly at Bowen. "No further questions, your Honour."

Realising, once the chaos had died down, that he had missed his opportunity to sneak out unseen, Steele found himself reluctantly enthralled with the scene before him.

Again Cabot stood before the judge, however this time her attention was fixed on the civilians beside her.

For a moment Jim thought that she'd noticed him sitting inconspicuously in the back row. Her eyes strayed briefly into the gallery, almost as if she were seeking out someone in particular, but in a moment she restored the intense focus directed solely at the twelve men and women whom she was so vehemently addressing.

As she focused on each of the individuals, Steele watched as they responded to her instinctively – a solemn nod here, a smile there. After several minutes, he gave up attempting to follow the content of her argument; watching her with the jury, he could almost believe she was actually human. Almost.

A flurry of movement around him, Steele came to the sudden, and unwelcome awareness, that closing arguments had ended, and he was seconds away from being caught openly spying on his boss. With few available options, he found himself on his feet approaching the woman in question who was studiously slipping rafts of papers back into her brief case. As he called to her, he thought he saw her start slightly, but as she turned to face him, her features took on the familiar expression of indifferent professionalism, speaking before he had opportunity to collect his thoughts.

"If you've come to offer moral support to a new colleague, Jim, I fear you're a little late."

Instead of admitting he'd witnessed at least some of the proceedings, Steele found himself nodding mutely.

A question seemed to flicker across her eyes, or maybe a recognition. But instead of voicing it, she gracefully gathered up her remaining belongings and indicated to the door in front of them.

"I don't know about you, but I could definitely use a cup of coffee."

As Jim followed, he couldn't quite decide whether the tiredness he heard in her voice was yet another figment of his potentially over-active imagination.

"… either way, he's looking at twenty-five, max."

Idly sipping his stale coffee, Steele again found himself watching the Bureau Chief.

Her own cup now empty, she appeared more interested in the steady bustle of the court house cafeteria than in the status of his current case.

Noting her distraction, Jim allowed himself a brief wave of satisfaction at the idea that Cabot, for all her professional arrogance, at least had the grace to be anxious over the impending verdict. It was only as he followed his boss back into the courtroom at the summons of the clerk that he realised this distraction was not in the least affected by the news that the jury was in.

xxx

As the unsurprising 'guilty on all counts' echoed around the room, out of habit Jim found himself turning to convey his best wishes to the people whom he assumed to be the family of Mr. Davies' unfortunate wife. In doing so, he was only now realising, he had barely even registered the unusual reaction, or non-reaction, to the successful verdict, of the attorney who had obtained it.

Indeed, his own acknowledgement of this had probably been hampered by the words he had disbelievingly heard spilling from his own lips.

Yet Cabot had, in her unflappable manner, accepted his dinner invitation. Whether it had been purely a reflex based more on a society upbringing than any genuine desire to share a meal with him, he was still uncertain. But once the invitation was out there, he'd quickly come to the conclusion that even if they only spent the night making civil, perfunctory conversation, there were worse people he could dine with than Alexandra Cabot.

But, just in case, instead of a fancy up-town restaurant which she may somehow determine as a date, he opted for the restaurant-bar a short distance away. An establishment which was perennially frequented by lawyers and cops who failed to make it more than a couple of blocks from the court house before the need to celebrate or drown their sorrows en masse kicked in. Better that than the risk of an awkward Monday morning encounter with his boss.

In truth, the evening had been slightly more enjoyable than he had initially envisaged. They'd made it through dinner and drinks with only minimal lulls in conversation. Alexandra, as he had now taken to calling her, had been charming and witty, and everything to be expected of the well-educated product of New York society he knew her to be. Yet if he had asked himself whether, after two hours of this conversation, he in fact knew anything more about his colleague than he had the day she had first walked back into the D.A.'s office after her three years missing-in-action, the answer would be by all accounts, a resounding, no.

It was only as they had been preparing to leave that he had again been struck by the odd sensation that there was something else behind the unblemished façade of the woman beside him. Whereas every other generic enquiry he had made throughout the evening, no matter how banal, had been met with polite interest, she had suddenly appeared again to be momentarily distracted. Curiously seeking the source of this distraction, he had been puzzled to see only the backs of what appeared to be a small but rowdy group of cops, probably detectives, making their way noisily across to the bar. Turning his attention back to his companion for the evening, he could have sworn he saw a hint of _sadness_ flicker across her features. But the next second it was gone, and the only suggestion that she had anything on her mind other than the conversation at hand was the almost imperceptible slump of her previously finishing-school straight shoulders.

The same slump, he now realised, that he had witnessed as the jury foreman had read out the "guilty" verdict.

xxx

"Jim?"

At his boss' expectant look, Steele brought his impromptu reverie to an end, forging his features into an expression of what he hoped was consummate professionalism and re-considering the current topic of interest – their latest Jane Doe.

"Sorry, but I don't think questioning her is going to be an option, somehow."

On seeing his boss' expectant look, he quickly continued.

"She's now the subject of an open homicide."

If she had any reaction to the facts which could potentially have a less than positive impact on her division's case, there was again no outward reaction. Feeling the need at least to elicit a response, one of any nature, Jim continued.

"She was found in Battery Park early this morning. Provisional M.E.'s report says she'd been there a couple of days at least. Still no I.D. on her but the prints are a match. The new detectives on the case have been made aware of the connection to our guy."

At this information, Alex once again raised her eyes from the mound of paperwork which had again garnered her attention. Slowly removing her glasses, she looked directly at her Deputy.

"Well, they'd better work fast. Finn goes to trial in less than a week. And this is not one that we want to lose, if only for the sake of our dignity."

Caught off guard by the unexpected hint of humour in his colleague's response, Jim Steele could do nothing but nod his head in agreement. Realising this was his cue to leave he turned, pausing briefly as he reached the door, gathering his thoughts.

"I'll give their Captain a call today. But I think there's going to be some unlucky detectives spending a couple of hours at Riker's this afternoon in the company of New York's dumbest criminal."

Content that he'd at least put in an acceptable parting shot, he pulled the door closed behind him leaving the Bureau Chief to whatever unreadable thoughts he had just interrupted.

**TBC....**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** All That's Left You  
**Author:** Ally  
**Fandom:** Law & Order: SVU  
**Pairing:** Olivia/Alex  
**Summary:** When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue.  
**Spoilers:** If you're aware of events up until the advent of "Conviction", you'll be fine.  
**Status:** On-going  
**Archive:** Ask and ye shall, probably, receive.  
**A/N:** So, here's another chapter, and in a slightly speedier fashion than the previous. Thank you to those who took the time to comment on the last chapter. If I haven't replied personally to any messages/reviews over the last 6 weeks – a lovely piece of ad-ware hijacked my yahoo account and I no longer have access to it, so chances are I never received anything. As a result I now have a shiny new email address to which all fan fiction matters are directed. So if anyone does feel like getting in touch, be my guest, and I may even successfully receive email! It's nice to get to know fellow writers/readers. And on that note, thanks, once more, to 'beurre blanc' for her excellent beta services – it's appreciated as always. :) Hope you enjoy. ~ Ally.

**All That's Left You**

"_Long ago, it must be; I have a photograph,  
__Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you."_

**Chapter 4**

**Monday 3****rd**** July 2006, Riker's Island, East River.**

"Come on, Todd. Why don't you just tell us who she is?"

Olivia watched as Elliot towered effortlessly over the skinny kid at the table in front of them. The standard issue jumpsuit would've fitted a man twice his size and the harsh lighting served only to accent his large dark eyes against near translucent skin and greasy brown hair. In comparison with the bulky form of the ex-marine he did indeed look like a… kid.

A kid who was refusing to talk.

Realising that her partner's approach was getting them no where, and after almost an hour of wasted time, with the only sign of progress being the insane heat outside beginning to seep increasingly into the glorified cell that served as Riker's private visitor's room, Detective Benson decided that it was now time to take an alternative tack.

"Just talk to us, Todd. Look, I know this can't be fun for you in here. You seem like a nice kid who just did something incredibly dumb. And your trial's next week, right?"

At this, Todd Walker raised his head cautiously. Noticing the reaction, Olivia pressed on, her tone suddenly gentler and more lilting.

"We just want your help, Todd. Can you tell us about the woman living in your apartment?"

"And then what? You gonna offer me a deal?"

At the mention of his unknown accomplice, the detective could've sworn she saw a brief light behind his sunken eyes. When he finally spoke, although defiant, his voice was soft, almost feminine with a twang that suggested a hint of the mid-west, and Olivia suddenly found herself quelling the unexpected rush of sympathy it elicited. Before she could respond with a typical platitude about that being up to the D.A., the boy continued, a humourless smile playing across his lips.

"Yeah, I know. Not your call, right. That's what the lawyer who's gonna send me to jail said too. Except I think she's just scared of her boss. At one point I swear she almost apologised to me."

The smile still evident, he shrugged before resuming his steady silence, his hair flopping in front of his face in the process as his gaze returned steadfastly to the table.

"She's dead, Todd. MURDERED."

The sudden interruption came as almost as much of a shock to Olivia, in its volume at least, as it appeared to do to its intended target.

Taking in the now deathly pale figure before them, she turned briefly to her partner, fighting an instinctive urge to silently admonish him for the 'bad cop' manner in which he had chosen to deliver that particular piece of news. As she did so, she took in the tie now hanging loosely around his collar, giving, she imagined, only minimal reprieve from the soaring temperatures, and the tell-tale signs of guilt beginning to appear on his features as he observed the reaction of the kid before them.

Over their years on the job, both detectives had become unfortunate experts at the spectatorship of grief. In fact, it was almost a daily occurrence. Where as some was very obviously faked emotion to cover up a greater sin, and some the same but more cleverly disguised, Olivia was of the firm belief that it took quite an actor to instantaneously simulate the physical manifestation of true, irreparable grief. And if you asked her opinion, this boy just didn't have it in him.

For this reason, she suddenly found herself leaving her chair and crouching softly by his side.

Before she could speak, he turned to look at her. The defiance in his eyes was still present, but they had taken on a glassy sheen and his breathing was laboured.

"You're lying."

Olivia sighed. This wasn't how she'd envisaged the afternoon's interrogation turning out.

"I'm sorry, Todd."

"But…. she…..." he tailed off, and for a minute Olivia thought he might've passed out.

When he continued his voice was firmer but still barely audible.

"How?"

At this his attention fixed rigidly on Elliot, as if he, as the bearer of the bad news, was somehow responsible for its content.

Throwing him a look which unmistakeably told him to 'go easy', Olivia was quickly reassured that her partner was now well and truly back on the same wavelength. His body language had taken on a sympathetic demeanour, and despite the detail, his tone was verging on gentle.

"She was found this morning, in Battery Park. She was hit pretty hard over the head, but cause of death was internal bleeding." He paused for a second, as if questioning the wisdom of his final disclosure. "There were also signs of sexual assault."

At this, Walker's breath came out in a forced rush, as if physically extracted from his lungs. For a moment Olivia thought he was going to hyperventilate.

Instead, he took a further shaky gasp before again focusing his complete attention on Elliot, the previous light in his eyes becoming something much fiercer, older.

"She was raped?"

Elliot nodded slowly, a familiar sense of sorrow creeping over him, as he realised that if there was any last piece of this kid's childhood still remaining, that his time at Riker's had left intact, he had most likely just taken it forever. Whoever this woman had been, she had obviously meant a lot to the boy, and despite the mistakes he and the victim may've made, the most he could now hope for was some form of justice in finding the person responsible. And on a more cynical note, this was something that at least he and his partner could use. Keeping his voice soft, he held the kid's gaze.

"If you want us to find who did this to her, Todd, you need to talk to us. Tell us what she could've got herself into. You need to tell us who she was."

Taking an unsteady breath, Todd Walker lifted his chin, his eyes now switching between the two detectives on either side of him. Like her partner, Olivia had the sense she was no longer speaking to a child.

"Her name was Julie. Julie Ericson."

Slipping back into her well-tested role, Olivia smiled encouragingly.

"How long had you known Julie?"

Walker paused, seemingly lost in a comfortable memory. When he continued, his voice held an almost distant quality.

"Three months." He inhaled again. "I mean, three months before all this," he waved his unshackled hand absently around their current location, "shit happened."

Sensing their opening, Elliot let his partner take the lead.

"How did you two meet?"

"She came into my restaurant like five days in a row, and always ordered the same thing. She'd just sit and watch the families. At first I thought it was kinda weird and I was gonna tell my boss. But then we sorta got to talking and she just seemed so _sad_. But like totally harmless. I'd only just moved here so I didn't really know anyone, and I guess she didn't either, so we just started hanging out."

"How did she come to be living in your apartment?"

The question was innocent enough, but again there was a flash of anger behind the young man's eyes.

"I know what you're thinking. But it wasn't like that. We'd been hanging out for a couple of weeks, and she knew that I'd been struggling to make rent. She'd been having trouble with her super, or something, and was looking for a new place, so I suggested she stay with me for a few weeks, just 'til she could get her own place sorted out."

"Seems like she was there longer than a couple weeks, Todd."

The kid shrugged, but unlike earlier, there was no defiance in the gesture.

"It just kinda happened that way. I'd come home from work, and she'd have like cooked for me, or done the laundry."

"She didn't have a job?"

Again, he shrugged.

"She said she worked in one of the offices down town, as like a secretary or something."

He looked hesitant.

Olivia observed him encouragingly.

"But you didn't believe her?"

"I don't know." He paused briefly. "I'm not saying she was a liar or anything. I mean, she dressed smart and everything, but it's just her nails were always real dirty, and when she got in from work she sometimes smelt of detergent or something." Again he waited. "Maybe she just felt ashamed or something. She didn't talk about it or anything, but I think she used to have, like, a really good job." The shrugging was becoming subconscious. "Not that she didn't have money or anything. I mean just before I landed up here, she paid six months of my rent in cash." Seeing the detectives raised eyebrow, he quickly added. "Not that I asked her to. I mean, she just, like, did it. And when I asked her why, she got that sad look on her face again, and said she just wanted to make sure I was looked after."

Keeping her expression measured, Olivia leaned closer.

"Do you think she might've been into something that she shouldn't?"

Again, the boy hesitated. "Like drugs?"

She nodded.

"No."

Seeing that he looked like he had something to add, the detectives waited.

"I mean, sure, when she first moved in, I thought she might be on something. Or, like, drinking, maybe. But she seemed like a nice enough person, and she was helping out with the rent and everything."

"What made you think that, Todd?"

Another shrug. "It's just she sometimes, would get really spaced, you know? Like she was confused or something?" He sighed. "I tried asking her about it but she always changed the subject or had to go, or…," he tailed off. "Also, she had all these pills all the time. But ones she'd like got from the doctor, I think."

He raised his head, again looking directly at Olivia.

"She was a good friend, okay?"

Again, Olivia observed the kid, the dawning realisation only serving to increase the melancholy she could already feel forming inside.

"So you two _weren't_ sleeping together?"

Todd Walker stared back, even in his obvious grief, an incredulous expression forming on his features.

"Hell, man. No. She was like my mom, or something." Lowering his head, he absently swiped a hand across his eyes once again hidden beneath his hair, almost obscuring his final epithet.

Unsettlingly unable to distract herself from the sadness permeating the kid, Olivia almost wished it had gone unheard.

"She would've made a great mom."

xxx

"Any news?"

Olivia watched as her partner snapped his cell phone shut and joined her in the only shade the exterior walls of Riker's Island had to offer.

Running a hand around the collar of his shirt, as if this action would somehow lower the temperature of the air that would now flow there, he sighed as he slid the device back into his pocket. Absently picking at an uneven bit of brick work, he gathered his thoughts in order to adequately summarise the information he had gleaned in his telephone conversation with Munch.

He wasn't sure whether it was the heat or the seemingly genuine grief of the kid they'd just spent the better part of two hours with, but there was something about this whole situation which was making him uneasy. And that was before he even began to factor his partner into the equation. He knew there was more going on than she was admitting to. Not that she was really admitting to anything, and Christ, some of it, if he were honest, he probably didn't really want to know. But her reactions in the afternoon's interview… Not that she wasn't completely professional; she always was. But there was just something that…

"El?"

"Huh?"

Realising that the subject of his reflections was actually attempting to have a conversation with him, Elliot shook his head as if to clear it, and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry. Damn heat. Can't think straight."

He turned to face his partner in time to see her give him a mildly questioning look.

"I said, I still couldn't get Walker to give us access to his place to search Julie Ericson's stuff."

"Did you really try?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. And from the look on Olivia's face, he could tell that they'd probably sounded as bad out loud, as they had in his head. But the temporary misfire of his synapses did at least let him put his finger on what had been bothering him about his partner's reaction to the kid and his lost love, who never actually was. She hadn't just sympathised with him, she'd empathised.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Sighing again, he raised his hands in surrender, knowing that while he stood by the sentiment, it hadn't been raised in the most constructive manner, and he was pretty damn sure he'd end up apologising at some point, so he may as well get it over and done with.

"Sorry, Liv. That didn't come out right, okay? It's just," he paused looking for a way to phrase his concerns which would at least partially remove the expression on his partner's face which indicated she was definitely now spoiling for a fight. "Look, I know things aren't… easy for you right now…" A raised eyebrow hinted that he was probably not helping either himself or the situation at hand, but he pressed on. "It just seemed like you really didn't want to push that kid… at all."

"He was grieving, El." She stopped, running a hand through her hair, the volume of her voice raising a notch. "What did you want me to do? Keep at him until he completely clammed up on us?"

Elliot braced himself for the full onslaught of his partner's anger. But when she finally spoke, her tone soft, and her eyes downcast, he soon realised he'd have taken her anger over this any day.

"Look, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that whatever the hell her story is, it's pretty obvious she never felt about him what he felt about her. But why should we be the ones to shatter his illusions?"

As she finished, she took a deep breath. Elliot watched as she again ran her hand over her hair and neck; the expression in her eyes, more than her next words, telling him that this subject was now closed.

"So, what did Munch have to say?"

Grateful for the reprieve, Elliot eagerly replayed the highlights from his enlightening conversation with their colleague.

"He ran a search on Julie Ericson. A driver's license showed up and a bank account in the city. There's a previous address on the lower east side, but nothing else in the system."

He shrugged before continuing.

"Munch and Fin are seeing if they can come up with anything else. In the meantime, I think we need to get us a warrant to search Walker's place, and see what we can find about our mysterious Ms. Ericson."

Olivia nodded, a small frown creasing her brow.

"Casey's been working on the extradition in the Martin case. She's not back until tomorrow."

Elliot shrugged. "Then let's have a little chat with the A.D.A. on Walker's case. I can't see them having too much of a problem with us handing them the ID of their second perp."

With that he again flipped open his cell and headed back to the car, knowing that his partner would follow him.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** All That's Left You  
**Author:** Ally  
**Pairing:** Olivia/Alex  
**Summary:** When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue.  
**Spoilers:** If you're aware of events up until the advent of "Conviction", you'll be fine.  
**Status:** On-going  
**Archive:** Ask and ye shall (probably) receive.

**All That's Left You**

"_Long ago, it must be; I have a photograph,  
__Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you."_

**Chapter 5**

**Monday 3****rd**** July 2006, Manhattan District Attorney's Office.**

"Twice in one day, Arthur? I'm going to hazard a guess and say, this can't be good."

The Bureau Chief shifted her focus from the stack of papers on her desk to make eye contact with the District Attorney hovering at her office door.

"What can I do for you, Sir?"

On hearing the use of the title, Arthur cocked his head to one side and, for the second time that day, openly studied the woman in front of him. Coming from anyone else, the use of that particular form of address would have sounded deferent but, from Alexandra Cabot, it somehow managed to make him feel like he'd just been put firmly back in his place. Yet, as earlier, he still had the growing sense that beneath that calm demeanour, there was a hell of a lot more going on than he could imagine. Pushing aside his curiosity, he levelled the blonde with a steady gaze.

"I just had a rather interesting conversation with Don Cragen."

There was a slight intake of breath before the lawyer responded.

"I hope he and his squad are well."

Her expression never faltered but, at her mention of the SVU detectives, the DA could have sworn he saw a flash of… something… in her eyes.

He smiled genially.

"The Captain and his squad are just fine… except for one small problem."

The sudden rigidity of his colleague's shoulders was barely discernible, but Branch was pretty sure he hadn't imagined it. He moved further into the room.

"They have a new case, which, it would appear, is connected to your bureau, and they happen to have found themselves short of an Assistant District Attorney."

Cabot shifted in her seat.

"I thought Novak was only away for a day or two at most?"

When her boss chose not to question how she knew this particular piece of information, she paused briefly.

"In that case, I have no objection to them making use of A.D.A. Finn until Novak is back in the state. I'm assuming the detectives suspect that our defendant is concealing some vital piece of information from them, and are requesting a warrant to allow them to search the premises of Mr. Walker in relation to their victim – a course of action that he is refusing to permit until the relevant documentation has been obtained."

The Bureau Chief stopped, as if catching herself.

The distant expression on her face left Branch with the fleeting feeling that he was suddenly intruding. For a moment he believed she was about to continue. But instead she carefully placed both hands flat on the desk in front of her, all focus back on her employer. If it weren't for the small sigh she emitted with her next words, he would have again been unsure her that reaction was not merely a product of his own wistful imagination.

"It will most definitely be an experience for her."

With a renewed sense that he had somehow made a wise decision after all, Arthur directed his full attention on the woman in front of him.

"Actually, Alexandra, that's not the solution I had in mind."

This time the silence was longer. When the response came, it was in a distinctly measured tone.

"What is it that you're suggesting then, Arthur?"

Although his colleague's expression was one of professional interest, the D.A. found himself fighting the impulse to back away under the piercing stare now focused upon him. Drawing on all his political acumen, he instead settled for entering fully into the room, and casually taking the empty seat across the desk from his Bureau Chief.

"Well, Captain Cragen was rather adamant that he would prefer if I could supply him with a counsellor of more experience and, if possible, some familiarity with the workings of his unit."

He absently prodded at the pencil balancing on the stack of papers to his right.

"Even without the current extradition, Casey has at least twenty pending cases, and as much as it pleases me to see my A.D.A.'s grafting in the trenches, we both felt that she could make better use of her time than having to then take on another case which will hopefully be tied up by the time she returns."

Arthur paused for a second, reaching for the pencil until it rested between his thumb and forefinger.

"Therefore I suggested that maybe it would be a more judicious use of everyone's time and resources if the detectives at the 1-6 could liaise directly with yourself over this particular matter."

Branch allowed himself a brief moment to observe the effect of his words on the woman in front of him. Although her expression was unreadable, the growing tension in her posture was no longer in question. He glanced around the room before continuing.

"Captain Cragen was more comfortable with the idea that if the case does go to trial, we have the best chance of a favourable outcome."

Cabot took a short breath.

"And you think I'm the most appropriate person for the task?"

She played the query off as light-hearted, but this time Arthur was certain of the disquieting undertone to it. He flicked the pencil in a deft one-eighty manoeuvre.

"I think no-one, before or since, has outdone your win-loss ratio on SVU cases."

The comment was met with silence.

"And from what Casey's mentioned, I don't think there have been too many changes at the 1-6." He sighed. "Look, I've known Don Cragen a long time, and he has some good cops down there."

"The best I've ever worked with."

The response was soft, but the sentiment behind it unmistakable. When Arthur looked back up, he almost expected the blonde to appear embarrassed at her uncharacteristic admission. But instead the expression on her face showed little acknowledgement.

The gentle tone his voice took on, surprised even himself.

"And I don't believe for a second Alexandra, that you can't recall your affinity for this particular line of work."

Allowing his features to take on the kind smile befitting of his words, he sought out the Bureau Chief's eyes. Cabot's gaze dropped back to her desk and she appeared to swallow. Her final comment was barely audible.

"I couldn't forget if I tried."

Feeling once more like an intruder, Branch pulled his professional demeanour purposefully back into place. Allowing his chair to make more noise than strictly necessary, he pulled himself some what awkwardly to his feet before fixing a casual smile on his colleague.

"Well, then, I'd better let you get back to work. I believe there are some detectives down at the 1-6 waiting on their attorney to bring them a warrant, and they're expecting it before all the more accommodating judges head off to their air conditioned country clubs for the rest of the afternoon."

Realising he was still in possession of the purloined writing implement, he turned briefly to return it to its rightful owner, only to see her staring blankly at the spot he had just vacated. Pulling the door closed behind him, he found himself hoping, for the first time since their earlier phone call, that Don Cragen really did know what the hell he was doing.

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** All That's Left You  
**Author:** Ally  
**Pairing:** Olivia/Alex  
**Summary:** When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue.  
**Spoilers:** If you're aware of events up until the advent of "Conviction", you'll be fine.  
**Status:** On-going  
**Archive:** Ask and ye shall (probably) receive.

**All That's Left You**

"_Long ago, it must be; I have a photograph,  
__Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you."_

**Chapter 6**

**Monday 3****rd**** July 2006, 1-6 Precinct, Special Victims Unit.**

"So, where are we up to, people?"

Captain Donald Cragen's voice echoed commandingly across the squad room as he stuck his head out of his office briefly before joining his four detectives, whose eyes were all glued to the computer screen in front of them. Munch was seemingly in the driving seat, but it was Olivia's voice which rose above the rest as she stabbed her finger toward the screen, directing her comments to no-one in particular.

"You mean there's no record?"

"No."

"At all?"

"No."

"Nothing?"

"Zilch. Nicht. Nada. Bupkiss…"

"Okay, we get it John," Elliot cut in. Having silenced Munch, he turned to their boss. "We pulled Julie Ericson's records on the system. Born March 19th, 1968. Citizen of New York City. Driver's license, social security, the usual."

Cragen's gaze was steady. "Any priors?"

"Nothing. She's clean."

"Too clean."

Cragen's attention turned to Fin.

Tutuola shrugged. "Not even a speeding ticket. No debt. Hell, no credit cards. A savings account opened last August with three grand in it, but before that, nothing. Two addresses on the lower east side – the first around the time she opened the bank account, the second, Walker's place around the time he said she moved in. It's like, until twelve months ago, she didn't even exist. Don't add up, s'all I'm saying."

"Could just mean she's smart."

Munch ducked the paperclip heading for him.

Cragen sighed. "And you've run the social security number?"

"Phoney."

"So, I guess we're thinking name change? New identity, new life?"

"Makes you wonder what she was running from."

"Must be something pretty serious if it made her abandon her entire life." Elliot twisted a fresh paperclip between his fingers. "I'm just saying. If you believe Todd Walker's story, whoever Julie Ericson may have been, she had no idea that he was gonna swipe the necklace for her. According to Walker she was always looking at it in the store like it was really important to her, but she couldn't afford it… I mean, in his version our vic sounds more like a desperate housewife than a hardened career criminal."

"She was an accessory to a homicide."

"Accidental. She called 911."

"Well, look who's Mr. Optimism today."

"Detectives." Cragen's tone held a warning.

Elliot sighed in acknowledgement. "Okay, so I admit even though Julie Ericson's only current indiscretion appears to be playing house with a smitten eighteen year old, it doesn't mean she wasn't into something bigger, despite her apparent clean break. Even Walker admitted he didn't know much about her job, and he did mention some 'erratic' behaviour. Maybe whatever, or whoever, she was running away from finally caught up with her?"

"Just because she was Donna Reed in this life, doesn't mean she wasn't Martha Stewart in the last."

The detectives' attention turned to their colleague.

Olivia shrugged. "People change, or maybe they're just not who you thought they were in the first place."

"Well, our job is to find out." Cragen's voice cut into the silence that had suddenly descended. "Munch, Fin, go talk to her last super. See what you can find out. Benson, Stabler, you go search Mr. Walker's apartment."

"One problem, Cap'n." Elliot took a sip from the coffee mug in his hand. "Walker still wouldn't give us permission to access his place."

Elliot looked at his partner for back-up, but she sat staring, suddenly frozen in place.

"I don't anticipate that being a major concern."

All four men swung around toward the voice at the door, and a genuine smile spread over Cragen's face.

"Alex. Welcome home."

xxx

Elliot was the first to recover. Stepping discreetly in front of his partner, he stuck out his free hand. "It's good to see you, Counsellor."

The pause before she returned his gesture was fractional, but didn't escape his notice. Holding her hand in his grasp a moment longer than their previous professional relationship allowed for, Elliot forced her to meet his gaze. What he was looking for, he wasn't sure, but he was struck by an unexpected pang of sympathy for the woman. Releasing her hand, but keeping his eyes on hers, there was genuine warmth in his voice.

"It really is good to have you back, Alex."

She took a step back. Before Elliot could process her reaction, Fin and Munch were on their feet.

"Nice to see you again, Cabot."

"Alex. I expect you missed me."

As she lifted her eyes once more, the lawyer's shoulders appeared to straighten. Her gaze wandered around the squad room. By the time she finally replied, the area had fallen almost silent.

"It's good to be back."

The growing quiet was jarred as Cragen cleared his throat.

"So, I'm assuming you've come bearing good news, Counsellor."

"One warrant to search the home of Todd Walker – no restrictions." She smiled.

"Nice to see you've not lost your touch."

At Elliot's comment, the expression disappeared.

"Well, it looks like you've all got work to be doing. I'll be in my office if any further legal assistance is required."

Turning back toward the exit, she briefly caught the eye of the only detective in the room with whom she had not yet spoken. The tired whir and click of the overhead fan seemed magnified in the sudden silence.

She paused, as if bracing herself, before nodding curtly. "Olivia."

As the doors swung closed behind her, Cragen watched. The look on his face suggested he was suddenly reconsidering his earlier assertion to the District Attorney that this particular course of action was somehow the right move for all involved.

xxx

"Liv. You okay?"

After Cabot's abrupt departure, Elliot noted rather bitterly, Cragen, Munch and Fin had all been hastier than usual in their retreat, meaning that, once again, he and Olivia were glaringly alone. In more normal circumstances, he would at least have given his partner time to brood in silence over something so inherently personal. But it was clear to all involved, that what had just transpired did not qualify as normal circumstances.

Although not one to discuss her feelings freely, normal circumstances certainly did not involve Olivia Benson sitting mutely in the presence of her partner and anyone else who happened to walk in, looking as if she'd just been hit by a train.

"Liv?"

Olivia's head jolted up, and Elliot was shocked to see she'd made no attempt to mask the pain in her features. In an uncharacteristic display of understanding he allowed his hand to rest briefly on the back of her neck, squeezing gently, before lowering it to rest on her desk chair.

"I'll go wait in the car, okay?"

A final glance over his shoulder saw his partner sitting, unmoving, in the empty bull pen.

xxx

Ducking into the ladies room at the far end of the precinct, Alex secured the flimsy latch on the stall door. She leaned back against the grimy wall, her breath coming out in shaky gasps as she sank slowly to the floor.

**TBC…**


End file.
